be there for you

three .

That's what leads to Harry knocking on the door of Simon's room at nearly two in the morning, the same guilt running through his body, feeling as if it's seeping through his feet and into the floor.

The door opens after two seconds, Simon standing there looking like he had just woken up. Harry winces, looking down at his feet and rocking back and forth on his heels. He wrings his hands behind him.

"Can't sleep?" The elder asks quietly, rubbing his eyes and leaning against the doorframe.

Harry doesn't look up, continuing to roll his feet back and forth. "Well, yeah, but that's not why I'm here. I wanted to talk to you, but you're probably tired, it's not that important anyway. I'm sorry."

Simon just stares at him for a second before he grabs Harry's arm, pulling the older into his room and shutting the door behind them. Harry stumbles a bit, shocked, letting Simon pull him until they're both seated on the bed.

Simon doesn't speak. He doesn't have to speak, Harry's known him for long enough to know that this is his cue to say whatever was on his mind.

"I feel guilty." Harry says, running his fingers through his hair and pushing it back.

"Why is that?" Simon's voice is laced with a small hint of concern, and it shows in his face as well.

Harry stares at his pants, tugging at a loose string, looping it around his finger before ripping it off of the fabric. He plays with it in his hands while he tries to think of what he wants to say, and then drops it. "You always... you're so good at picking up my cues. You do a lot of things for me, and I feel like I don't do enough for you." His voice trails off.

Simon frowns. "What do you mean? You always do stuff for me, even if you don't realize it."

Harry blinks a few times, trying to think. His mind comes up blank. "I do?" He asks.

"Of course you do," Simon says, "But it's not... it's not really obvious. There's small things. For example, you let me take pictures of you for my photography assignments, you buy coffee for me, you listen to me when I ramble about my stupid classes. They may be small things, but they mean a lot to me. Especially since I know you aren't really the best with those things."

Harry's chest tightens when Simon places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "If anything, it means more to me just that you're still here after all of these years," Simon adds. "Just because you don't show it much, I know you still care about me, and at the end of the day that's what matters, right? I don't do things because I expect things in return, I do them because I want to." He finishes.

Harry's shoulder feels unbelievably warm where Simon's hand is. He doesn't know what to say, his throat is closed and his mouth is dry. Simon seems to understand, just massaging Harry's shoulder until the younger is ready to speak.

"How do you always know exactly what to say?" Harry ends up saying, and Simon laughs softly, ruffling Harry's hair with his free hand. The boy can't help the smile that forms on his face.

Harry finally makes eye contact with Simon, who is smiling at him. "Sorry for waking you up at two in the morning." Harry apologizes, and Simon nudges Harry's shoulder.

"It's no problem, Haz." The taller says. "Never feel like you can't come to me just because I'm sleeping. I'll gladly wake up to help you, no matter how small the problem is, or how tired I am."

Warmth blooms in Harry's chest and spreads through his veins to fill his entire body, pushing away the seeping guilt he felt earlier. Simon always manages to do this, Harry thinks.

He forgets to respond, though. Even so, Simon lays back on his bed and makes room for Harry. The bed is definitely not big enough for two people, but they've done this enough times to not care. Harry wordlessly takes his place next to Simon, shuffling under the soft quilt.

"Love you, Harry." Simon whispers, and Harry feels something tug at his heart.

"Love you too."